Whispers in the Dark
by Nessa-T
Summary: Aragorn meets Legolas in the forest near Gondor... things.. happen and the fate of the King is decided. WARNING: SLASH, AU,
1. The Shadow

Series: Whispers in the Dark – Part 1  
  
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn  
  
Rating: Overall, NC 17. But it is PG for this chapter.  
  
Warnings: AU  
  
Summary: Something lurks in the darkness of the forest…  
  
The Shadow  
  
The persistent feeling of unease had long since settled at the base of their spines, coiling like an errant serpent. Yet, no one was willing to give voice to their fears – they were without doubt, plagued by an unwelcome presence.  
  
  
  
The King had wanted to survey his lands, making sure that the wayward Orcs would not breach their territory and had brought along two of his best warriors and friends, Boromir as well as his younger brother, Faramir. Nevertheless, the presence of such fearsome warriors did little to save them from the plight that they had consistently found themselves in.  
  
  
  
It had been almost a week now that the men of Gondor had gone without any form of meat in their diet, feeding instead on an increasingly stale supply of bread that they had brought with them for provision. Traps had been set and weapons sharpened, but that was all to no avail because not a deer, not even a rabbit had they managed to ensnare.  
  
  
  
Traps were dismantled during the night, whatever creature that was caught under the cover of darkness had been freed. Once there was even an attempt to free their horses for the ropes that bound the animals to the trees were cut and their saddles thrown aside. It was fortunate then that the animals were loyal to their Masters and thus did not escape.  
  
  
  
The men had tried to find the source of their discomfort, determined to put a stop to the mischief that had been done to them, only managing to unearth a chilling discovery – there were no evidence of footprints. No imprints upon the soft forest ground nor broken twigs or crushed leaves to show that the forest floor had been disturbed during the night. None whatsoever.   
  
  
  
"It is not possible," said Boromir, distractingly running his fingers through his hair, pushing away the sweaty locks from his face. "Even the slightest of body must leave its mark upon the ground. It was as if the rogue were made of nothing but air!"  
  
  
  
"I have read of spirits that roam the forest at night, waylaying unsuspecting wanderers. Perhaps we have displeased the guardian of the forest with our intrusion upon the woods?" Faramir suggested, squinting his eyes against the glare of the sun that had penetrated through the thin canopy of the forest trees.  
  
  
  
"How you prattle, Faramir. It seems clear little brother, that you have been listening to too many of Gandalf's tales speaking of trees that walked in forests and of spirit beings that guard the trees. Nay, I do not believe in this stories, do you, sire?"  
  
  
  
Aragorn smiled, witnessing the way at which the two brothers good-naturedly argued with one another. It was typical of Boromir to contradict whatever Faramir said, even if it was for argument's sake. But the King knew that deep down in Boromir's heart, he loved his brother more than life itself.  
  
  
  
"I do not know what stalks us, my friends, but what I *can* tell you is that this… this *shadow*… does not mean us any harm. Perhaps it is just as Faramir said, and we have intruded upon his territory. But this forest is within the realm of Gondor – property of Gondor – and we will not be frightened by someone who will not show his face to us nor face us with a sword in hand."  
  
  
  
Boromir snorted, as if to indicate his disbelief that any person who had tried to sabotage their attempts at ensnaring a meal could possibly not "mean any harm". But he became silent, deferring to the King's wisdom.  
  
  
  
"Do not fear, Boromir," said Aragorn with a laugh at the look upon Boromir's face, "If it is deer meat you crave, it shall be as you desire. Do not worry, dear friend. We will taste the sweetness of red meat before reaching the White City."  
  
  
  
So it was said and so they moved on, dwelling no more on the subject of the strange shadow, never noticing a keen pair of eyes watching them as they headed towards the thickest part of the forest…  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
  
The night had fallen, covering everything in a cloak of darkness that blinded the men, forcing them to make camp. It was quiet. So quiet that the men felt the strange unease they had felt escalating into a tension that robbed them of sleep. Something was going to happen. They sensed it more sharply this time… that feeling of being followed… being watched… and being stalked as if they were animals.  
  
  
  
"I do not like this, my lord," Faramir whispered, his eyes trying to peer through the stubborn darkness in hopes of being able to see something… see anything. Anything but the all-consuming blackness that overwhelmed their senses.  
  
  
  
"It is not natural, this darkness. Something is out there," Faramir continued, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword, ready to attack should anything spring out from the darkness.  
  
  
  
Aragorn stood up, his back straight and head tossed back. He was the complete picture of the King of Men – proud and regal of bearing as he spoke in voice that could send tremors of fears even through the most hardened heart of the enemies.  
  
  
  
"If he that seek to fight the Lord Aragorn, King of Gondor, let him step forward now and draw his sword against him," he cried, the sharp note of a sword brushing against metal rang out loud in the blackness of the night as Anduril was drawn forth from its sheath, the blade glinting white even in the dark.  
  
  
  
A sudden rustling in the tree above caught their attention. Something was moving. And it was moving quickly, as if it were leaping nimbly from branch to branch… from tree to tree.  
  
  
  
"What kind of a man walks on trees?" Boromir whispered in horror as the rustlings became more frantic.   
  
  
  
"This is no Man. Can you not tell? Hark! Their numbers have increased!" Faramir cried, his sword now drawn in preparation for battle as the noises from the leaves seemed to surround them completely.  
  
  
  
But the King just laughed, the sudden outburst suddenly stilling the motions in the trees. It became quiet again, the silence broken only by the sounds of the King's deep laughter.  
  
  
  
"Fear not, my friends. He only meant to frighten us off by trying to lead us into thinking that there is more than one in the trees. He is alone and will not attack unless provoked. Let us rest and take turns to keep watch just in case our escort decides to visit us in the night. Boromir, you keep first watch," Aragorn said, as he lay down upon the ground to rest, closing his eyes as he did.   
  
  
  
"How do you know this, my lord? How can you tell?" Faramir asked, his worries not allayed as his eyes darted from tree to tree.  
  
  
  
The King stifled a yawn as he answered.  
  
  
  
"As you have said yourself, Faramir, this is no Man. If it had wanted to kill us, it would have done so already. Now be at ease and rest."  
  
  
  
Before long, Aragorn and Faramir fell into a light sleep, leaving Boromir to contend with the darkness alone.  
  
  
  
to be continued… 


	2. The Kill

Series: Whispers in the Dark – Part 2  
  
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn  
  
Rating: Overall, NC-17 but this is PG  
  
Warnings: AU, You may not understand what Legolas is saying coz you're not supposed to, but I assure you it is really Elvish he is speaking in.  
  
Summary: The shadow has a face…  
  
The Kill  
  
  
  
It was not until later in the night that Faramir realized that it was not Aragorn who was asleep by his side, but his brother. The King and Boromir must have switched places during the night because a few feet away from where they laid down to rest, he could make out the tall figure of the King standing with his head thrown back towards the heavens.  
  
  
  
Faramir sat up, blurry eyed before noticing that light had once more came to the forest where a few hours before, darkness had dwelled. The moon shone once again and in her soft light, Aragorn's sharp features were put into relief, his face beautiful and severe at the same time. His head was cocked to one side, a clear indication that he had heard some noise in the dark that had nothing to do with the wind blowing in the trees.   
  
  
  
Something was watching them. And it was close. Very close. And a deep anger filled the woods, its intensity so terrible that the Men could sense it in their very bones. Even Boromir, who was asleep, could feel it, his body stirring as he resurfaced to the realm of consciousness, coming awake in a matter of seconds.  
  
  
  
Aragorn turned towards where the brothers lay, putting a finger to his lips in a clear warning for them to be silent.  
  
  
  
"The white moon has awakened and all that lay in the shadows shall be revealed. Be on your guard," the King warned as he silently motioned his men to get to their feet and pick up their weapons.  
  
  
  
"Where are we going?" Boromir asked, his voice thick with sleep and exhaustion.  
  
  
  
"We are going to find food. We will see if our traps have caught any beast fit to be eaten. But be alert, I fear our escort is near and I found this embedded in the tree close to where we were resting," Aragorn continued, holding up an arrow for the brothers to see.  
  
  
  
"What does this mean?" Faramir asked, bewildered.  
  
  
  
"It means our escort is armed and he wants us to know that. But come along now and do not fret over such trifling matters. We must look for food or we will not have the strength to make our way back to Minas Tirith."  
  
  
  
And with that the Men set out with weapons in hand, their eyes warily surveying their surroundings while their feet moved quickly and silently over the forest floor.  
  
  
  
Some hours passed and dawn was fast approaching. Yet the men once more found their devices dismantled and any hopes of feasting upon meat dashed as they gazed at the ropes that had been cut and wooden traps shattered to let the captured creature lose.  
  
  
  
"We must look for food, my lord. We have lingered too long here in the wilderness and whatever rations we have brought with us will not be enough to sustain us for the journey home," Boromir said, his voice calm despite the anger that festered in his heart.  
  
  
  
The King was silent, quietly surveying what was left of the trap before his quick eyes noticed the drops of blood that had dried upon a splinter of wood. He smiled, his face mirroring relief and hope. He bent down, his fingertips lightly running over the sharp edge of the splinter and he looked at the blood that had come off upon his finger pads.  
  
  
  
"This is fresh blood. A creature had been ensnared in this trap not too long ago and had only just been released. It cannot have gone far for it is injured. Come, my friends! We must track it down!" he cried and dashed off, disappearing into the thick undergrowth leaving the brothers to follow him.  
  
  
  
And followed him they did – Aragorn taking them deeper into the forest, their paths zigzagging through the trees before reaching a clearing where they saw, resting upon the ground, a deer.  
  
  
  
It was indeed injured, its hind legs bloodied by the trap making it impossible for it to escape should the men come upon them. Victory was theirs and the King drew out his bow and arrow, the deadly weapon pointing straight at the animal's heart.  
  
  
  
It happened too quickly. The whistle of an arrow leaving its bow. The sickening sound of the sharp tip sinking into warm flesh. The sudden, shrill sound emitting from the deer as it struggled to escape, its hind legs buckling uselessly as it tried to run away… But not before there was a loud exclamation from the brothers as something leapt down from the trees, trying but failing to deflect the path of the King's arrow before it reached the deer's heart.  
  
  
  
"N'uma! N'uma!" it cried, the Men only registering a blur of green, brown and silver before it sprinted away towards the direction where the deer escaped to.  
  
  
  
"After him!" Aragorn said, his brows furrowing in incredulity before running off in hot pursuit of his prey. Despite the state of utter confusion, the brothers followed the King's orders, the three men scurrying after the lithe figure before them that ran as swiftly as the wind.  
  
  
  
The figure seemed to disappear amongst the thick vegetation after a moment, and the men might not have been successful in tracking their strange attacker if it had not been for the piteous sound made by the dying deer amidst the clearing.   
  
  
  
They approached with caution, Aragorn taking the lead while he carefully parted the barriers that the plants imposed upon them. And there, so close to where they were hiding, they could see – see something that seemingly surpasses belief as their eyes were fixed upon the sight before them.  
  
  
  
It was a Man … yet not a man for it was shaped more delicately than any Gondorian male that had ever walked the earth. His skin was fair, seeming as though he had never felt the warmth of the sun upon his skin and his hair a strange shade of silver and gold.  
  
  
  
He was kneeling before the deer, cradling the head tenderly in the crook of his arms as if he were tending to a baby and whispered into its ear while the animal panted in pain, every breath it took rattling in its chest. And the Men watched in increasing disbelief as the deer appeared to be listening to the strange, melodious tilt of his voice, its trashing slowly subsiding as if it were calmed by the very sound of the stranger's voice.  
  
  
  
Then with a sudden stiffening of the figure's shoulder a loud crack was heard as he snapped the deer's neck, instantly ending the beast's misery. The slight shoulders trembled for a moment, its nose pressing into the deer's neck while the Men looked on, silent and wary.  
  
  
  
And then came the silence, thick and uncomfortable as the stranger continued to cradle the dead animal's head in his arms, gently rocking it and singing his strange song…  
  
  
  
"*Nadorhuan*," a voice hissed, the anger lacing it making it tremble. The figure sprang to his feet, his eyes glittering with fury and teeth bared in aggression.  
  
  
  
"Aragorn, look out!" Boromir roared, grasping his sword while the stranger charged towards the King with a gleaming knife clutched in his fist…  
  
  
  
to be continued… 


	3. The Revelation

Series: Whispers in the Dark – Part 3  
  
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Warnings: AU  
  
Summary: The shadow has a name…  
  
The Revelation  
  
  
  
"*Nadorhuan*!" the stranger cried again, his voice rising in a howl that was born purely of rage and anguish as he closed the distance between them with terrifying speed. The King and his men drew their swords, their narrowed gaze fixing upon the charging figure in expectation of a violent confrontation.  
  
  
  
And they were not disappointed.  
  
  
  
With a roar, the strange figure fell upon them, his blade flashing before their eyes like lightning as steel clashed upon steel. The four males fought furiously – the men only managing to parry the potentially devastating blows while the stranger attacked and dodged so nimbly it was as if it were impossible to bring him down or even to mark him with their swords.  
  
  
  
It seemed to last an eternity – time stood frozen where all their surroundings went unnoticed… nothing seem to be of any consequence but the escalating heat of the battle and the ceaseless barrage of thrusts and blows from the stranger until slowly but surely, the men began to tire and each downward fall of the stranger's blade upon their weapon was sheer agony.  
  
  
  
It was Boromir who was forced to retreat from the fray when the stranger dealt a stunning blow to his face with a fist, nearly knocking him senseless. He paused for a moment, his face flushed from exertion and his breaths coming in great gasps. His experienced eyes settled upon the confrontation before him, heart beating wildly in his breast.   
  
  
  
Already, from where he stood, he could see his brother struggling to fend off the stranger's attack, their assailant seemingly to be bent upon landing his deadly blows only upon Aragorn. And for that he was somewhat relieved because he knew that as long as Faramir stood his ground before their King, he would be able to prevent Aragorn from being hurt.  
  
  
  
But even Faramir, who excelled in the art of sword fighting, will tire. And already, his brother showed signs of exhaustion which meant that Boromir had to think of something quickly or they will never escape the forest alive.  
  
  
  
His quick gaze fell upon the forest floor, taking note of the sheathe belonging to Aragorn's sword lying forgotten amongst the fallen leaves. It was made of solid steel and he knew that it could withstand whatever abuse he was going to inflict upon it.  
  
  
  
As quick as a flash, Boromir picked up the article and grasped it firmly in his hands. With a great cry, he rushed towards their attacker noting only that split second in time where their eyes met and the expression of disbelief that manifested itself in those strange blue eyes before smashing the sheathe against the side of the stranger's head.  
  
  
  
There was a sudden silence – a heart stopping pause where nothing was heard save the wind in the trees and their deep breathings. A heart stopping moment where the stranger just stared into Boromir's eyes and Aragorn into Faramir's before the stranger dropped his weapon, those blue eyes fluttering close and then slumped to the ground, unconscious.  
  
  
  
The men had won and each heaved an audible sigh of relief at the much welcomed reprieve.  
  
  
  
Quickly, Faramir took out some ropes from his backpack and proceeded to bind the stranger's hands and legs in fear that he might awaken and would start attacking them again. When it was done, the men sank to the ground, panting loudly. Tired. Spent. And utterly confused.  
  
  
  
"Miserable worm," Boromir muttered, his hand reaching up to his face to wipe a trail of blood away from the corner of his lips before spitting out more blood from his mouth in disgust.  
  
  
  
Aragorn said nothing, his eyes settling upon the inert body before bending his head down to take a better look of the stranger's face.  
  
  
  
"This is most extraordinary. He cannot have seen more than twenty winters and yet he has the strength and the agility of a seasoned warrior," Aragorn mused aloud, his gaze thoughtful and his brows furrowing in thought as was his usual when he came across something which was beyond comprehension.  
  
  
  
"The strength and agility of *ten* seasoned warriors," Boromir corrected, his palm gingerly massaging the burgeoning lump on his head where the stranger's blow had found its mark.  
  
  
  
Faramir kept silent, cocking his head as his keen eyes studied the fair features before he made an exclamation of surprise and utter disbelief.   
  
  
  
"His ears! By the Gods… his ears! But how can it be? I thought that the last of them had faded into the West ages ago!" Faramir said, tripping over his words in his shock.  
  
  
  
"What are you talking about?" Boromir said, his expression registering his astonishment at the expression upon Faramir's face – an expression that showed a mixture of awe and a certain amount of fear upon his handsome features.  
  
  
  
Gently, Faramir turned the stranger's face to one side, revealing to the men a delicate ear with its oddly pointed tip – a clear indication that the stranger was no man but a creature that they had never ever seen before… till now.  
  
  
  
"Well? What is it?" Boromir asked, his voice still incredulous, bewilderment marring his handsome face.  
  
  
  
Aragorn leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with excitement as his fingers reached down to gently trace the outer shell of the stranger's ear.   
  
  
  
"He is an Elf. Why had I not noticed it before?" Aragorn murmured, before a shadow seemed to pass across his face and he fell silent once more.  
  
  
  
"But it cannot be! I have heard Gandalf telling stories of Elven Lords that had once roamed the earth in the Green Woods long ago… but thought that they were nothing more than myths!" Boromir said, his voice rising in confusion.  
  
  
  
"And yet one of them lies before us now. Surely it shows that there is much truth to the tales Gandalf had spoken of," Aragorn answered, effectively silencing any protests that might have formed upon Boromir's lips.  
  
  
  
There was a short silence before Faramir gave voice to the same thought that ran through the Men's mind at that very moment.  
  
  
  
"What do we do now, my lord?" Faramir asked, "We cannot leave him lying here all tied up for he would perish and yet we cannot let him free for it is certain now that he will kill us the moment he wakes up."  
  
  
  
"Just kill him and be done with it!" Boromir spat, "According to the laws of Gondor, if there ever was a Man who dared to threaten the King, he would face execution."  
  
  
  
"Do not let anger take over reason, Boromir," the King answered, his gaze steady and reproachful at the same time. "The Elf cannot know the laws of Men and under no circumstances should we act upon something we have little knowledge of."  
  
  
  
Boromir ducked his head in shame at being reprimanded by his King. "Forgive me, my lord," his said, his tone contrite and voice hushed, "I spoke in anger. I was not thinking."  
  
  
  
The King laid a comforting hand upon his friend's shoulder, bestowing upon him a gentle smile.  
  
  
  
"I know you are protective of me, my friend, so I am not angry with you."  
  
  
  
And then he turned to address both the brothers, his face bearing the mark of a man who had already come to a firm decision.  
  
  
  
"We will bear the Elf to Minas Tirith and there, we will call for Gandalf's aid to see if he can extract any kind of information from the lips of this creature. Come, my friends. Look to the deer and carry it back to our camp. I myself will bear the burden of the Elf. Let us leave the forest for the dawn has come and our people await our return," he said before he reached down to throw the unconscious Elf over his shoulder.  
  
  
  
The brothers exchanged a look, each having reservations about the wisdom of the King's decision but kept their silence, bending down instead to tend to the dead carcass of the deer.  
  
  
  
And together they made their way back to their camps while the sun brought forth a new morning, its golden light bathing the forest, chasing away the shadows and the gloom that had hours before dwelled in the darkness of the night…  
  
  
  
to be continued…   
  
  
  
Website: http://www.nimnastian.net/nessa  
  
Update Info: http://groups.yahoo.com/groups/nessa_tulcakelume 


	4. The Elf

Series: Whispers in the Dark – Part 4  
  
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Warning: AU  
  
Summary: The Men contemplates upon what to do with the Elf…  
  
Notes: The "history" lecture is a little lengthy but I think it is necessary that I write it down because it helps you to understand the world that I'm trying to portray. Also, pretend that Rohan and Gondor had been united under one ruler (Aragorn) and that the mountains separating the two Kingdoms do not exist.  
  
The Elf  
  
  
  
It did not take long before the sun began to rise, its golden rays peeking over the horizon lending light to where darkness once resided. The men steadily made their way back to their camp; Boromir and Faramir bearing the burden of the dead carcass and Aragorn, with the Elf thrown across his shoulder.  
  
  
  
Before long, they reached the familiar sight of their encampment and the King laid the Elf gently upon the ground, carefully checking that he was securely tied for fear that the Elf might try to escape or – even worse – try to attack them the moment he awakened. His eyes lingered for a moment upon the Elf's face, admiring the ethereal beauty of the creature lying before him and then turned away to tend to their deer.  
  
  
  
Breakfast was a cheery event; their hunger finally appeased having eaten their fill of deer meat and the sweet sounds of the birds in the trees lent a pleasant atmosphere to the partaking of their meal. Boromir hummed in appreciation, savouring the lingering sweetness of their efforts upon the tips of his fingers while Faramir went off to discard the last scraps of their meal near the river bank.   
  
  
  
Only Aragorn remained silent and thoughtful, his eyes sliding every now and again towards the figure lying inert under the shade of a tree upon where he had personally placed the Elf. Boromir took note of the direction of the King's glance, lapsing in turn into deep thoughts as he pondered upon the problems that they would have to face the moment their prisoner regained consciousness.  
  
  
  
"Do you think he has any relatives, my lord? Anyone who might search for him they moment they find that he is missing?" Boromir asked, frowning a little at the new problem that he foresaw.   
  
  
  
The King slanted him a look, before turning back to watch the steady rise and fall of the creature's chest as he slept.  
  
  
  
"I do not know, Boromir. From what I have heard…from what I know… the Elves had since disappeared long before the Great Wars of our forefathers started. You have heard tales of a Dark Lord, have you not? Tales that you might have heard from Gandalf when you were little?" Aragorn asked, his voice hushed as if he feared that the Elf might be awakened if he spoke too loudly.  
  
  
  
Boromir nodded his head, his brows furrowing in thought.  
  
  
  
"I do remember hearing such stories in my days of youth. I have heard tales of the glorious times before the coming of Men… of Ancient Elves uniting under one banner, fighting side by side to bring about the defeat of the Dark Lord. I know that he had been vanquished but the world of Elves shattered as Great Elven Leaders of that time struggled to gain power over... over some unspeakable evil…" Boromir faltered, cocking his head in an attempt to remember the lost details of a story he had once learnt and had since forgotten.  
  
  
  
"And I remembered," Faramir continued, his face appearing over Boromir's shoulder as he came to sit next to his brother.  
  
  
  
"I remembered Gandalf speaking of the centuries of unrest and terrible violence that followed as they came to terms with the presence of this evil in Middle Earth. Some began to fade, unable to withstand the darkness that befell upon them. Others leave for their fair country in the distant lands. But one thing is certain, that time of magic had long since vanished, the memory that Men had of the Elves diminished until they were nothing more than myths."  
  
  
  
Aragorn smiled in delight, his pleasure at hearing his friends retell the tales evident upon his face.  
  
  
  
"Very good," he praised, "you have listened well to Gandalf's stories about the days of old."  
  
  
  
And then it was Faramir's turn to frown.  
  
  
  
"But what has such tales got to do with the Elf? It does not explain the reappearance of the Fair Folks in Middle Earth," he said, confusion lacing his words as he looked towards his brother and his King in askance.  
  
  
  
"It has everything to do with the Elf," Aragorn answered, "Legend has it that the end of the Second Age was filled with much suffering and that *all* of the Elves faded into the West. Yet now, we know that it is not true and that some must have remained hidden in the woods even as we speak."  
  
  
  
"But what if they are? What can this possibly mean? Why did this one stay behind when all of his people faded into the west centuries ago?" Faramir asked, a bewildered expression manifesting itself upon his face as he glanced at the unconscious Elf lying close to them.  
  
  
  
The King was silent for a moment, clearly pondering upon the right answer to present to his friends.  
  
  
  
"I do not know," he began slowly, trying to find the words to express the jumbled thoughts that were in his mind. "Gandalf's stories spoke of the diminishment of Elves and how in the later years, Men slowly began to grow stronger, fighting their wars against the strange beast that haunts them, slowly driving them deeper into the forests and expanding their empire. And even our history records, as you know, speaks of how our Kings of Old, Lord Elendil and his son Ilsildur, claimed lordship over the kingdom of Rohan and Gondor. No one remembered the Elves existed. No one has even seen them… until now."  
  
  
  
"Perhaps they had returned and their numbers have grown of late? That the days of the past, of glory and of magic had came back?" Faramir suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement.  
  
  
  
"Or perhaps they had not left at all? Remaining hidden in their dwellings until the time came when Men drove the Orcs and Goblins into the very heart of the forests, forcing the Elves to come out of their hiding in search of a more peaceful place to reside?" Aragorn murmured, his voice soft and eyes intense.  
  
  
  
There was a short, uncomfortable silence.  
  
  
  
"Which in turn, brings *him* here… to the borders of Gondor into our very forests. But why? Why now?" Boromir said, a spark understanding slowly showing in his eyes before confusion took over again.  
  
  
  
"Think well, Boromir. You know that our Men had driven the Orcs over the river Anduin into the Green Woods. It is there in the Old Forest that the Elves must have lived and have been recently plagued by the very forces that we had had to contend with for many years. Perhaps they had sent one of their kinds here to see whence came the source of their discomfort," Aragorn answered, rubbing a hand over his face thoughtfully.   
  
  
  
Another pause as each man became submerged in their reverie, their conversation halting as they attended to their own thoughts.  
  
  
  
Suddenly Aragorn gave a slight start, his eyes darting immediately towards the direction of the two brothers, clearly giving a silent warning for them not to many any sounds or sudden movements. Boromir froze in his place before carefully turning his head towards the direction upon which the King's eyes were directed and gave a sharp intake of breath at the sight that greeted him.  
  
  
  
A pair of blue eyes was looking deep into his.  
  
  
  
The Elf had awakened.  
  
  
  
to be continued… 


	5. The Awakening

Series: Whispers in the Dark – Part 5  
  
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Warning: AU  
  
Summary: The Elf awakens…  
  
Notes: The Elvish words used in this part (and many parts to come) are by no means accurate. But the point I'm trying to put across is the obvious lack in the ability of the Men and Elf to communicate, hence the lack of translation of the Elvish language.  
  
The Awakening  
  
  
  
*The Elf had awakened*  
  
  
  
A sense of terrible dread and apprehension coursed through their veins, burning like the very fire itself as the Men warily got to their feet, every inch of their bodies screaming with tension. Blue eyes watched them advance, its dazed expression swiftly clearing before shock and then white hot fury took over.   
  
  
  
And so the Elf began to struggle.  
  
  
  
He twisted and writhed against his bonds, seemingly oblivious to the ropes that cruelly cut into his fair flesh, chafing his skin raw. Aragorn approached the Elf slowly before coming to kneel before him, murmuring soft words of comfort as if he were calming a frightened horse. But the creature gave a howl of rage and attempted to kick him away with his feet.   
  
  
  
"Uum tyaar amin! A'est cel!" he cried, struggling even harder, body arching and then snapping back like a tightly drawn bow and now trying to distance himself away from the Men as he crawled away futilely upon his belly.   
  
  
  
"Lle a'est cel! Kel'amin!" the Elf cried again, anger making his voice sharp and eyes wild as he regarded with growing panic upon the strange faces that loomed before him. The Men tried various ways to soothe the clearly distressed Elf – Aragorn continued to speak in soft tones while Faramir hovered over the King's shoulder, looking on uneasily, bewilderment marring his face as he contemplated upon the bizarre situation that confronted them.   
  
  
  
Finally, with patience wearing thin, Boromir gave an oath before he swiftly approached the Elf, grabbing him firmly by his shoulders.  
  
  
  
"Cease!" he snapped, giving the Elf a firm shake, eyes flashing in anger as he noted the quick dart of the Elf's eyes towards the sword that Boromir wore by his side. The Elf renewed his efforts at escaping and fought hard, his body trashing about in an attempt to release himself from Boromir's grasp as he kept crying out in his strange language.   
  
  
  
Over and over the Men tried to hold the creature down, but to no avail. Desperation had lent strength to the Elf's struggle and the Men quickly began to tire.  
  
  
  
"This is no good, my lord. We cannot have him drawing attention to our camp!" Faramir said, panting hard as he strove to pin the Elf's legs down while the latter thrashed about violently.  
  
  
  
"By the Gods! I have half a mind to use your sheathe again, my lord, and knock him down," Boromir grunted as the Elf's feet connected with his jaw, drawing blood.  
  
  
  
Quickly, the King scanned their campsite in search of something that might aid them in their attempts at subduing the Elf. And then he found it – a little bottle that had gently tumbled out onto the ground from Faramir's possession during the struggle.  
  
  
  
"The vial… the one containing the laudanum. Take it, Faramir! Put a few drops of it into the water skin!" the King cried over the din that the Elf was making.   
  
  
  
Faramir did as he was told, anxiety making his fingers clumsy as he picked up the vial, undid the stopper with his teeth and then with shaking hands, attempted to pour some of the potion into one of their water bottles. One drop. Two drops. Three. And the potent liquid was swirled in the water, mixing thoroughly and with that, he handed it over to the King.  
  
  
  
"Now Boromir, hold him! Do not let go! Faramir, take hold of his head," Aragorn said, stress making his voice harsh and brows furrow while he tried to dodge the blows that the Elf directed at him.  
  
  
  
The Men followed their King's instruction as well as they could while the heat of the mid-morning sun seemed to dull their reflexes. Many a time the Elf could have successfully escaped their grasp, but it was thwarted by the ropes that had securely bound him, effectively diminishing any chances of fleeing.  
  
  
  
"Gently now… gently," the King murmured as he lifted the mouth of the water skin to the Elf's lips.  
  
  
  
Their captive's eyes widened, comprehension and dread manifesting itself upon his fair face and he tried to turn his head away. But the Elf was exhausted – its fierce resistance against the Men had finally taken its toll upon him and with relative ease, Aragorn was able to pour the liquid into the Elf's mouth.  
  
  
  
"Pinch his nose, Faramir. Make sure he swallows it," the King said, his voice hushed as he cast a look of pity at the helpless Elf beneath them.   
  
  
  
The Elf put up one last terrific fight, refusing to swallow the potion as he tried to spit out the water that was slowly poured into his mouth. But even an immortal must breathe and so the Elf had no choice but to swallow the potion in huge choking gulps, his eyes clenching shut as if in denial of the inevitable.  
  
  
  
With a huge sigh of relief, the Men quickly let the Elf go and retreated to a safe distance as the Elf retched into the grass, trying but failing to dispel the potion from his system.  
  
  
  
"It shouldn't be long now," Faramir whispered to himself, his grey eyes fixing intently upon the Elf. The creature was still murmuring in its own tongue; blue eyes tearing with the coughing fit that he was recovering from. Desperately he tried once again to escape, worming his way upon his belly to put as much distance as he could between him and his captives.  
  
  
  
"Forgive me. I did not wish to hurt you," Aragorn murmured, reaching out to place a comforting hand upon the Elf's brow but stopped when the creature recoiled sharply from the King's touch.  
  
  
  
Seconds bled into minutes and before long the Elf began to succumb to the drugging effect of the potion, his eyelids made heavy with drug-induced sleep. He yawned, putting up one last fight to keep his eyes open before they fell shut and the Elf slumped to the ground, motionless.   
  
  
  
He was fast asleep.   
  
  
  
Harmless once more… at least for the moment.  
  
  
  
Relief flooded through the Men and they welcomed the glow as the earth would welcome the rain after long months of drought. Exhaustion seeped into their bones and the Men were forced to rest, Boromir leaning against his brother's back and the King leaning against a tree, wearing a troubled look upon his face.  
  
  
  
There was a long, expected silence as the Men tried to catch their breath.  
  
  
  
"I do no know, my lord. I do not know how we will be able to contain the Elf if we are to carry him all the way to Minas Tirith," Faramir murmured tiredly, running a hand over his face.  
  
  
  
"The potion does well to keep him asleep, I think. If we are vigilant and give him enough of the drug, he will not be awake long enough to offer much resistance. Do you not agree, sire?" Boromir said, cracking open an eye to look in the direction of their King.  
  
  
  
The King was silent for a moment, pausing to give a wry smile at the familiar manner at which the brothers always contradict each other before speaking his mind.  
  
  
  
"Yes… yes. The Elf must be taken back to Minas Tirith. Gandalf must then speak to him. Hopefully, we will have answers to the many questions that we have," he murmured half to himself before he closed his eyes and allowed exhaustion to take him into a light sleep.  
  
  
  
There were no other movements in the forest safe for the gentle stirring of the Men and Elf's as they lay in sleep and the occasional flutter of wings as the birds looked down from their branches curiously, seeming to be in anticipation of the events that will come about when they awoke in the next hour…  
  
  
  
to be continued…   
  
  
  
Attention: The story will definitely pick up its pace in the next chapter, so please be patient. Thanks so much for your reviews and your continued support! 


	6. The White City

Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Warning: AU  
  
Summary: The King returns to Minas Tirith…  
  
Author's Notes: Any major problems with the story, please forward it to my e-mail at nessa_tulcakelume @yahoo.co.uk. Thanks!  
  
The White City  
  
  
  
It did not take long before the sun started to blaze overhead, marking the end of the morning and the start of a scorching afternoon. The Men had been well rested and it was fortunate that when they awoke, the Elf was still under the influence of the laudanum and was lying fast asleep under the shady tree where they had left him.   
  
  
  
They began to get to work, hurriedly packing their possessions – Boromir getting their horses ready, Faramir stuffing their camping gear into their back packs and the King overseeing the two brothers, lending a helping hand where ever it was needed. Aragorn paused for a moment before the sleeping Elf; head cocked as he contemplated upon how the Elf was to be concealed from common view before he undid his black cloak and wrapped it securely around the Elf's shoulders, using the hood to carefully cover their captive's face and hair.  
  
  
  
And then he swung up his horse, his back straight as a steel rod and his hair fluttering in the breeze, gesturing for the brothers to help the Elf up his horse. Without a word, they lifted the Elf upon Aragorn's mount, making sure that their captive rested comfortably in the crook of his arms while King's chin rested lightly on top of that blond head.  
  
  
  
And then it was time to go home – to return to the White City of Minas Tirith. With a rousing call, the King dug his heels into the flanks of his mount and they were off at full speed with the wind whistling in their ears and the thundering of hooves echoing in the silence of the forest.  
  
  
  
On and on they went, crossing rivers and plains, never stopping, never pausing, the need for haste driving them forward relentlessly. Once, the Elf stirred and murmured softly, but it was only in sleep and he quickly settled back to sleep with his cheek pressing against the warmth of Aragorn's chest. The Men gave each other looks of utmost relief but still they did not stop.  
  
  
  
Over the fields they went, through the lush meadows until finally… finally they were within sight of the walls of their home, the setting sun basking the white walls of their city in the glorious colour of gold.   
  
  
  
They had reached Minas Tirith at last.  
  
  
  
In the distance there were excited calls as eager heads peeked out of their windows; the women waving their scarves in welcome and the men, their hats. The air was filled with cries of delight and the laughter of children as they enthusiastically hailed the return of their King.  
  
  
  
"The Lord has returned!" cried the people and like wildfire spreading uncontrollably in the heat of a dry summer, the cry swept through the village, reaching the ears of those that lived in the castle.  
  
  
  
"The Lord has returned!" cried Grisworth, guard of the citadel, and the servants clapped their hands with joy while they hurried about trying to make the hall as welcoming and pleasing to their King as possible. And like a sudden onset of a wind, the excited calls once more rushed through the great stony halls of the palace, up the stairs and through the barrier of doors… and the Queen looked up from her sewing, her eyes shining with eagerness.  
  
  
  
Swiftly she rose from her chair and rushed to the window, her eyes scanning over the horizon in an attempt to see the return of her love. And there in the distance with the sun shining upon his face, he rode furiously towards the gates of the city, his hair glinting gold in the fading sunlight putting even the sun to shame with its glorious colour.  
  
  
  
A tremulous smile of gladness stole over her lips as she dashed out of her room, her dress billowing behind her as she raced down the steps to the great hall, threw open the door, ran through the courtyard of stone and stood before the entrance, her chest heaving agitatedly as she regarded the three tall figures on their horses that were allowed into the city.  
  
  
  
And it was thus she waited, her heart beating a quick, congenial rhythm in her breast as her eyes eagerly focused upon the one man as he rode confidently towards the entrance of the city walls…  
  
  
  
**********  
  
  
  
The King had returned. The cries of joy rang in their ears as the King waved merrily at the sea of faces that welcomed him. Many eyes scuttled towards the limp figure in the King's arms, but they did not think much on it for the thought crossed their minds that it was merely a traveller that was found wounded along the way and that the King had carried him back to get medicine as he usually did.  
  
  
  
Love coursed through their hearts as they looked upon their Lord and King. Aragorn had led them fearlessly through the dark times when the Orcs and Goblins had roamed freely in their lands. Many of their livestock and even their children had been slain by the foul creatures and it was only because of their King that they were able to find peace in their sleep at night. It was only because of their King that the kingdom had prospered and the people lived in comfort. Only because of their King.  
  
  
  
And so Aragorn rode on with a soft smile playing upon his lips before he slowed his horse down to a trot upon reaching the entrance of the courtyard. The two brothers rode by his side, drawing admiring glances from the people as they approached the lone figure that greeted them at the foyer.   
  
  
  
"My Lord, welcome home," she was saying, her voice husky with emotion as she bowed before the King. Her eyes darted curiously to the bundle in Aragorn's arms but she remained silent, her fair hair shielding her face from the Men's view so that they could not read her expression.  
  
  
  
At a command from the King, Grisworth hurried forth to render aid. Carefully, Aragorn slid the Elf into the clumsy arms of his guard, watching the confusion that played upon that broad, honest face before he slid to the ground to greet his wife properly.  
  
  
  
"Hail to thee, Eowyn," he murmured as he clasped his wife in a light hold and pressed his lips against her fair brow. Eowyn returned her husband's embrace, her fair head resting upon those broad shoulders. Against her will, her eyes slid towards the man standing behind the King and gazed upon his face, her own regret and sorrow reflecting themselves so clearly in her green eyes that the man flinched but did not look away.   
  
  
  
And then just like that, their connection broke as the King gently pulled her out of his embrace.  
  
  
  
"Come now. We will return to the palace and we will eat. You will join us, will you not?" he said, looking pointedly at his two friends. The brothers nodded their heads, their eyes shadowed although they kept the smile upon their faces. The King returned their smile although unlike the brothers', it was a smile that was warm and open and was devoid of secrets.   
  
  
  
"We will freshen up, my lord, and will return to your halls to be in time for dinner," Boromir murmured, bowing low in deep respect. The King nodded his assent.   
  
  
  
"Until dinner then, my friends," he said. With a parting smile directed towards the brothers and a gentle command to have Grisworth follow him back into the palace, he took his wife's hands and led her back towards the halls, making small talk as he went along.  
  
  
  
Eowyn followed her King, her heart heavy and yet gladdened at the same time. She turned her face back towards where the bothers stood and once more their eyes locked. A look of hope. Of a desire so intense that it hurt. And then she looked away again and disappeared behind the doors of the palace.  
  
  
  
And late in the night when he chanced to lay down to sleep, Faramir would dwell upon that look and think of a love that he felt but could never have.  
  
  
  
to be continued… 


	7. Secrets

Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn  
  
Rating: PG-13   
  
Warning: AU  
  
Summary: Events start to… unfold in the palace.  
  
Notes: I'll be taking a break from this one to recharge my batteries. Will update in a week or two.   
  
More notes: BTW... major thanks to those who leave feedback! Much appreciated... it really means a lot to me :P Due to the nature of the reviewing process, I can't reply to each and every review... but just know that i have read them all and am so happy that you like this story! If you want, you can e-mail me at nessa_tulcakelume@ yahoo.co.uk. Thanks again!  
  
Secrets  
  
  
  
Dinner seemed to be a pleasant affair. Aragorn sat at the head of the table dressed in rich robes and a crown was upon his head, sparkling in the torch-lit hall. He was in the company of the men he trusted with his life – amongst them was Eomer, brother to his wife, who was leaning eagerly towards the King as he gave an account of his encounter with the Elf in the woods.  
  
  
  
"It is most marvellous, my Lord, that you should chance to meet something so rare in our forest," Eomer began to say, "Just think! For Gondor to have an Elf in its service – no one would dare dispute your lordship over the lands, sire."  
  
  
  
"And yet," Faramir piped in, his fingers delicately tracing the rim of his wine goblet, eyes lowered in thought. "And yet the Elf does not belong here. It cannot be right that he be kept against his will within the walls of the city, my Lord."  
  
  
  
A stern voice broke in the midst of the excited chatter, causing a sudden lull in the conversation that was taking place at the table.  
  
  
  
"It is said that those who are young share not the kind of wisdom that are bestowed upon the old. Please pardon my son's lack of perception, sire," came the voice, silky and dripping with sarcasm. "Lord Eomer is right of course. It is a boon to have one of the Fair Folks amongst our people. Just think! With the creature coming to live within our great walls, we would be able to gain the alliance of the Elves. It would be a glorious time for us indeed!"  
  
  
  
The silence lay unbroken as all eyes focused upon Denethor, father to Boromir and his brother. He was tall and noble in stature, yet age had not been kind to him, bent as he was over an invisible burden that he seemed to carry upon his shoulders. His dark eyes were cold and his lips stern. No one dared to dispute him for he was the King's very own Chief Advisor and had been in the service of the throne for almost three generations.  
  
  
  
The King cast a quick glance at Faramir, noting his shuttered expression and the manner he displayed, suggesting that he was eager to just disappear from the table altogether. By his side, Boromir too looked away, his face flushing in silent anger at his father's attack of his brother.  
  
  
  
"This is wrong," Boromir was thinking, seething deep in his heart, "Faramir is no less wise than Aragorn himself." But he too did not say a word, content with grasping Faramir's hand into his in a gesture of comfort under the cover of the table cloth.  
  
  
  
"Perhaps you are right, Denethor," the King said slowly, trying to soothe over the suddenly tense situation that he had found himself in. "Perhaps the Elf may come to serve the kingdom. Yet I will not hold him captive like a common prisoner. Whether he chooses to stay or to leave, we must respect his wishes. But enough on that… nothing can be certain before we allow Gandalf to speak with him."  
  
  
  
Thus, that marked the end of the conversation and the topic slowly drifted off to more mundane things while Denethor fixed a look upon the King, smouldering in silent resentment…  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
  
The King's Men had eaten their fill and slowly they drifted back to their homes, tired but contented. Only two men were left behind, one slouched over the table while the other stood before him, running a hand distractedly through his hair. Boromir looked upon his subdued brother, seemingly to be at a lost and grappling for the words to say that could put Faramir's heart at ease.  
  
  
  
"You must not think ill of Father, Faramir," he began uncomfortably in the light of Faramir's persistent silence, "He had not been well ever since mother died. You must be patient with him."  
  
  
  
"Aye, let me keep my patience while he tramples my good name to the ground," Faramir said, his voice bitter as his eyes were fixed stubbornly upon the wooden table before him, the grains of the wood blurring before his eyes as he fought against tears.  
  
  
  
"He did not mean what he said," Boromir started to say but Faramir lifted a hand impatiently, effectively silencing his brother.  
  
  
  
"Oh but he did. How can he not? Father may be ill but it does not affect the way he speaks his mind," he said, his voice strangely hoarse with emotions. With a shake of his head, he stood up and left the hall, his footsteps echoing angrily in the empty room leaving Boromir standing alone, looking after the retreating back in dismay.   
  
  
  
There was a short silence for a while during which Boromir looked at the door that was slammed shut, his heart heavy. Faramir had always tolerated their father's abuse but that patience was clearly wearing thin. Ever since they were young, Denethor had preferred the older of the two for reasons that was not known to him.  
  
  
  
Perhaps it was because, of the two, Faramir had always been quiet and sweet-tempered, always retreating to the library to read or listening with wonderment at Gandalf's tales. Perhaps it was because Boromir's military successes had overshadowed his brother's modest ones. Or perhaps it was because of Faramir that their mother met her untimely death…  
  
  
  
And Boromir can still remember their mother with her fair hair, sweet voice and her pretty smiles. There were no other women in Gondor who could be as beautiful as her… except perhaps for the face that had emerged from the shadows, her eyes lowering shyly as she approached him.  
  
  
  
"Lady Eowyn," he murmured in greeting giving a short bow as he did, embarrassed at having been caught so deep in thought.  
  
  
  
"Boromir," she whispered back, her eyes shining with a strange light upon which Boromir regarded with unease.  
  
  
  
"Do you not sleep, my lady?" he ventured carefully, untrained as he was in the refined speech of a gentleman. It was not in his blood to engage in a conversation with the fairer sex. Even if he *did*, the colour of his gold had always been attractive to them, and their conversation quickly escalating to other more… pleasurable activities.  
  
  
  
Eowyn shook her head, her eyes sad and her face grave.  
  
  
  
"Well, it is time that I take to bed then, Lady Eowyn," he said awkwardly. "Sleep well." With another short bow, he hastily took his leave. And all the time he was aware of those eyes upon his back and all night he remembered the look upon her face when she gazed into his eyes.  
  
  
  
"She must not love me, for I have nothing to give her," he thought to himself before he drifted off into a troubled sleep…  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Has the Elf been placed in his sleeping quarters?" the King asked, watching the man before him, his face flushed with too much wine. Grisworth nodded his head.  
  
  
  
"Aye, lord. He is still sleeping as soundly as a babe," he said cheerfully, straightening his back importantly at having being directly addressed by the King. "I had the maidservants change his clothes and I myself have kept his weapons in your room, my lord."  
  
  
  
"Very good," the King said with a smile as he looked at the glow that seemed to come across the man's face at being praised. "The long knife? And the bow and arrows too?"  
  
  
  
Again his guard nodded his head, puffing his chest out in pride at having followed the King's instructions properly.  
  
  
  
"Well done, Grisworth. And more importantly, had someone sent for Gandalf? I need his counsel tomorrow, the first thing in the morning," Aragorn said and once more his guard nodded his head so vehemently that he was in danger of losing his balance and falling over.  
  
  
  
"Very good then. Here's some money for your troubles. Good night, Grisworth," he said, pressing some gold into Grisworth's hand before heading over down the hall to his mother's sleeping chamber leaving the guard tottering off, bumping into walls as he did.  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
  
The air was still and yet sweet as he entered his mother's room. Queen Gilrean was lying upon her bed with her back propped up against the pillows, sickness robbing her of the strength to stand or even move. And yet, Aragorn thought his mother beautiful and her white hair fell like the purest snow upon her shoulders.  
  
  
  
"Mother," he whispered as he came to knees by her bedside. The Queen Mother smiled, her eyes still sparkling with such brilliance that neither sickness nor time could take away.  
  
  
  
"My son," she said, her voice husky with sleep that she had just awoken from, "When did you return?"  
  
  
  
"Only just," he replied, taking her wizened hand into his to press a tender kiss upon the palm.  
  
  
  
"You left with only two men," she said, her voice filled with gentle reproach although the smile still lingered upon her face, "You should have brought along more, if only for safety sake."  
  
  
  
The King smiled fondly at his mother, kissing her hand again. "I will never be in danger with Boromir and Faramir by my side."  
  
  
  
"Well that is different then," she murmured back before falling silent. They were quiet for a while, the King content to hold her hand as he fell deeply into thought.  
  
  
  
"Mother," he began again, "I've met someone in the woods and brought him back with me. He is an Elf."  
  
  
  
Silence.   
  
  
  
Aragorn peered into his mother's face. She was fast asleep. With that, he pressed a tender kiss upon her forehead and turned away towards the door.  
  
  
  
"You should not have brought him here," said the soft voice from the bed. Aragorn paused, his hand resting upon the knob of the door. Nothing more was said and so the King went away, closing the door firmly behind him.  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
  
Eowyn sat upon her bed, dressed in the sheerest night gown, the soft material clinging to every contours of her slender body. The moonlight crept through the window like a thief in the night, casting shadows in the room while it caressed the lady's skin – the white glow making her even more beautiful to the eyes of Men. She was the very picture of innocence ripe for taking; her breast was firm and the fine material of her clothe gave a tantalizing view of her long, shapely legs, hinting at the treasure situated between her thighs.   
  
  
  
Absently, she brushed her hair, her hand mechanically running the brush through her golden tresses while her mind was far away in the world of dreams and make–belief. The sudden movement at the door halted her motion and her eyes turned towards the King as he entered the room.  
  
  
  
"How do you fare?" he asked, his voice soft and face gravely regarding hers.  
  
  
  
"The same as always, my lord," she said, her eyes steadfastly fixed upon the brush in her hand. Another pair of hand clasped hers and she raised her eyes to look into those of her husband.  
  
  
  
"You look sad," he observed, still looking into her face. Eowyn shook her head and offered a smile although in her heart, she felt like weeping.  
  
  
  
"No. All is well, my lord. I am merely tired and wish to go to bed," she said. The King smiled in response before leaning forward to kiss her softly on her cheek.  
  
  
  
"Sleep well then," he murmured against her hair and with a parting smile, he left the room to retire to his own sleeping quarters leaving Eowyn to dwell upon her broken dreams and the secrets that she kept in her heart.  
  
  
  
to be continued… 


	8. The Confrontation

Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Warnings: AU (meaning I have taken liberty to change timelines, history, geography, language etc. etc.)  
  
Summary: Aragorn confronts the Elf…  
  
Notes: PLEASE HEED WARNINGS. Single quotation marks depict Elvish conversations (translated into English) where ever applicable.  
  
Author's Notes: Decided to continue writing after all. Thanks so much for the feedbacks! I thought this story wasn't going as I planned (my first time writing something so tame) but your reviews inspired me. Keep them coming! *smiles*  
  
The Confrontation  
  
The morning came quickly, and the castle began to buzz with activity. In a corner of the hall, guards and maid servants were going frantic with worry. Loud commotions were heard reverberating off the walls of the corridor, the noise carrying all the way up to the King's quarters. There was a flurry of movements… the guards barging into a room to gain control of the situation only to be hurled bodily out of the door whence they came in from. Finally when all else failed, they had shut the door behind them, hoping that their guest would calm down, if only for a moment.  
  
  
  
The Elf, of course, had awakened… and he was very much displeased to have found himself being a prisoner of the strange place he woke up in.  
  
  
  
"What is this infernal racket?" snarled Denethor, his eyes flashing with anger as he hurried down towards the end of the hall. Even through the thick barrier of the door, he could hear the yelling, each syllable as clear as crystal but its meaning lost for the Elf was speaking once more in his own tongue.  
  
  
  
"It's the Elf, my lord. He is awake," Grisworth said, blubbering a little as he carefully massaged the bridge of his nose. The Elf had previously thrown a punch in his direction and had hit him neatly between his eyes, hence incurring a minor, but no less painful injury.  
  
  
  
"Fool! Why did you not put more laudanum into his wine?" Denethor growled again, coldly regarding the snivelling figure before him.  
  
  
  
"The King did not give instructions to do so! Forgive me, my lord," Grisworth whined, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot while the King's advisor shook his head in disgust.  
  
  
  
There was another flurry of motions as the maid servants saw the King descending the staircase, heading towards their direction. His eyes settled reproachfully upon Grisworth as his swift stride brought him closer to his guard in a matter of seconds.  
  
  
  
"How now, Grisworth. Why is our guest upset?" he asked shortly before he went straight to the door with the intention of opening it.  
  
  
  
"No! Do not open it, my lord," cried Oden, another of the King's guard, "He is far too dangerous to come near!"  
  
  
  
But the King ignored him and opened the door, only to pause in shock at seeing the Elf with both wrists shackled and chained to the bed. He was straining against his bonds; one foot planted upon the floor while the other folded awkwardly beneath him as he fought to get off the bed. The chains were fixed firmly around one corner of the iron bedposts, thus making it impossible for the Elf to free himself until his face was flushed red with his efforts to escape. When he saw the King, he bared his teeth in rage, crying out in his strange language.  
  
  
  
"Weeala edain! Faiin amin!" he cried, his voice laced with contempt and unbridled fury.  
  
  
  
The King turned a reproachful look over his shoulder.  
  
  
  
"Under whose order was it to have our guest chained to his bed like a dog?" the King said, his eyes blazing with anger. The men became silent, eyes focused steadfastly to the ground.  
  
  
  
"Answer me!" he said, his voice stern and terrible while he turned his reproachful gaze to each of the men in turn.  
  
  
  
"Lord, you told me to have him secured… so I… so I took the liberty of securing him… yes lord… securing him so that he might not escape," Grisworth stuttered while the others nodded their heads in mute agreement.  
  
  
  
"Fool," the King said not too kindly, but without much heat for he could not stay angry for long, "The Elf is not a prisoner. Now leave and be sure you bring Gandalf hither post-haste. Do not fail me now Grisworth!"  
  
  
  
With a click of his heels and a smart salute, the guard scampered off while the King looked after him, shaking his head.  
  
  
  
"If I may say so, my liege," Denethor began to say, speaking as clearly as he could over the Elf's loud, vocal expression of his anger. "We should not unchain the Elf yet for fear that he will bring harm to us, or to the people in the castle."  
  
  
  
The King paused for a moment to think, before nodding his head.   
  
  
  
"Perhaps you are right. Leave me now for I wish to be with the Elf alone," he said before entering the Elf's chamber, closing the door firmly behind him. He stood before his guest for the longest moment, silent and contemplative, while he patiently waited for the Elf to calm down and cease to struggle.  
  
  
  
"Faiin amin! Faiin amin!" he kept saying, fiercely rattling his chains as he tried to pry away the shackles from his wrists. But the King remained silent, proceeding to drag a chair towards the foot of the Elf's bed and sat down upon it while the Elf regarded him in bewilderment. Again and again the Elf trashed about, once grasping one end of the chain with both hands and tugged at it in obvious hope of breaking away from his restraints only to meet stubborn resistance and the strange silence that the King held.  
  
  
  
When he finally gave up, the Elf looked upon him with unfriendly eyes, silent now although every line of his body screamed with tension; his lean muscles coiling under his flesh, ready to spring into action.  
  
  
  
"Did you sleep well?" Aragorn asked, his tone deliberately mild while his eyes were fixed upon the pitcher of wine on the table next to the Elf. But now, it was the Elf who remained silent, the room filled only with the soft clinking of the metal chains rubbing against each other as he retreated carefully onto the bed to put as much distance between him and the King as possible.  
  
  
  
The Elf watched Aragorn as the King stood and moved towards the Elf's bedside, his gaze unnervingly intense. Aragorn flicked a glance at the wary Elf, noting that the creature was wearing one of his night shirts, the neck of the material partly opened to reveal pale flesh while the hem of the shirt reached all the way down to the Elf's knees.  
  
  
  
"I trust the clothing suits you, Master Elf?" the King continued as he poured some wine into a goblet, "It is different from yours, as you can see. It is strange to see a shirt like yours in Gondor… all shiny and silver in hue. Perhaps one day you will be able to tell me what it is made of… then I can fashion a tunic that looks just like your own so that I may wear it."  
  
  
  
He held out the goblet towards the Elf in offering. The Elf snarled and made as if to strike out at the King, his hand swiping out in an attempt to knock the goblet over.  
  
  
  
Incredibly, the King laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling merrily.   
  
  
  
"Fear not, Master Elf. It is not laced with laudanum and thus will not put you to sleep," he chuckled, before drinking some of the wine to prove his point. The Elf watched the King carefully as sweet liquid moistened Aragorn's lips and unconsciously licked his own lips. He was thirsty.  
  
  
  
"Come, drink. I told you that it was not my desire to hurt you. I will not do so now," Aragorn murmured, flashing a reassuring smile while he refilled the goblet to the brim before handing it over to the Elf once more. Eagerly he grasped it from the King's hands, whispered some soft words ("hannon lle") and proceeded to drink it, his throat working as he gulped down the sweet wine.   
  
  
  
He paused to look curiously at the King, watching the peculiar smile widening upon the King's lips before he continued to drink again, all the while those blue eyes fixing upon the King's face in distrust. When he was done, he sat the goblet down upon the bed and turned a reproachful look towards Aragorn.  
  
  
  
"Faiin amin," he said again, impatiently holding out his manacled hands, rattling the chains to get his message across.   
  
  
  
The King made as if to answer, but before he could, the door opened and an old man appeared at the doorway, leaning heavily upon his walking stick.  
  
  
  
"Gandalf," the King said in greeting while the Elf became wary once more.  
  
  
  
"Lord Aragorn, I come as you bid me to. What do you wish to ask of me?" the old man asked, his eyes twinkling merrily before the smile on his face faltered as he turned towards the figure sitting upon the bed.  
  
  
  
"An Elf!" he exclaimed, his brows snapping together in bewilderment, "So it is true then, what many are saying… that you have brought one of the Fair Folks back to the City. How did you find him?"  
  
  
  
"In the Firien Forest," Aragorn replied, reaching out to take the goblet that lay by the Elf's side and placed it back on the side table. "He had been following us and when we chanced to kill a deer, he attacked. We overpowered him and brought him home with us. Perhaps you can speak to him and find out what you can about the Elf."  
  
  
  
"What would you have me ask him?" Gandalf asked, his eyes still fixed upon the Elf who was watching him with equal fascination.  
  
  
  
"Ask him for his name… his family… his home. Anything. I will wait outside while you speak to him," Aragorn said and with a parting smile, he left the room, shutting the door tightly behind him.  
  
  
  
The old man and Elf stared at each other for a moment before Gandalf pulled the chair closer towards the Elf and sat upon it. Already his heart carried the first hints of misgivings – his heart telling him that the King had made a grave mistake and the Elf should never have been brought back to Minas Tirith. But what was done could not be undone. And with a deep breath, Gandalf began to speak in halting but coherent Elvish.  
  
  
  
'I hope that you are not angered by Gondor's lack of hospitality, Master Elf. It had been so long since any of us have seen one of your kinds here, but hopefully not long enough to not know how to treat our guests kindly. Will you not forgive us?'  
  
  
  
The Elf's eyes grew round with surprise before he burst out in excitement.  
  
  
  
'You speak Elvish! This is most fortunate! For two days have I had to bear the misery of not being able to understand why I had been abused as such and why the Men kept me within these walls against my will! You must ask them to release me at once!'  
  
  
  
Gandalf raised a hand to stem the rush of words that the Elf poured forth.  
  
  
  
'It is not for me to decide. You are under the protection of the Lord Aragorn, King of Gondor. It is up to him to determine whether you should stay or leave.'  
  
  
  
'Then I am a prisoner,' the Elf said bitterly, 'What use can the Men of Gondor have for an Elf? I am prince in my homeland and my people need me. The darkness had grown in the forest of Mirkwood where I hailed from. Orcs had multiplied and goblins arrived by the droves from the direction of your City. How shall I warn my people?'  
  
  
  
'You are prince! It is most unfortunate for the Lord Aragorn to keep a member of royalty here against his will. Still you say that you come from Mirkwood? Is all not fair in the Green Woods of old?'   
  
  
  
The Elf shook his head sadly.  
  
  
  
'We did not know whence came the foul creatures so my father sent me to find out. And now I know – your King and his men had driven them towards our beloved home – unknowingly it seems. You must tell your King to cease at once! Already the Elf race is dying out… Lorien had been constantly under siege by the dark forces and many had lost their lives defending their home. The last of the occupants in Rivendell had long since left the shores when the Ring was lost…'  
  
  
  
'The Ring?' Gandalf said, his voice sharp with worry, 'The Ring was lost?'  
  
  
  
The Elf gave a start at the old man's interruption but answered the question.  
  
  
  
'No, not lost. I did not mean lost. Hidden. The Great Elves of old defeated the Dark Lord and took his ring, thus marking the end of the Dark Age. Yet, they fought amongst themselves; their desire to own the Ring feeding to their hate. Our High King Gil-Galad was slain and thus the Alliance of the Elves was broken and the three great Elven Cities began to fall apart. Fathers fought against their sons. Brothers against brothers. None were spared from the Evil. It was the end of the Dark Age, and yet it felt like the beginning of even darker times.'  
  
  
  
Here the Elf paused to catch his breath, cocking his head to one side in an attempt to recollect his thoughts.  
  
  
  
'Yes… yes… it was the beginning of the end and we still fought. We fought against each other until one day, Lord Elrond of Rivendell took the Ring and together with the Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor, hid it deep in the heart of Mordor. The Dark Lord never awakened, but his spirit still lived in the Ring, slowly poisoning the very air around us. The Lord of Rivendell became corrupted by the power of the Ring, and he came to yearn for the feel of it upon his skin. But he left and was spared. He left for the fair lands of the West with all of his people. There are none left save the few Elves in Lorien and the Elves of Mirkwood.'  
  
  
  
'How many of you are there?' Gandalf asked.  
  
  
  
'Some thousands, but the numbers are decreasing.'  
  
  
  
The Elf fell silent, fixing a brooding look out of the window, noting the bright sun that had risen and marvelling at it for the moment.  
  
  
  
'This is a bleak picture that you speak of. But why should the King release you? You had attempted to kill him in the forest. It is fitting that you serve under his command until you have atoned for your actions,' Gandalf said, casting a thoughtful look at the sudden surge of anger that came to the Elf's eyes.  
  
  
  
'He killed an innocent creature!' the Elf cried out as twin spots of colour highlighted his cheekbones, 'He killed a harmless deer whose only sin was to come across him at the most inopportune time! She was with child! I had to protect her!'  
  
  
  
Impatiently the Elf rattled his chains once more.  
  
  
  
'And I have to go back to my people! They need me! The King of Gondor has no right to keep me here like an animal!'  
  
  
  
'Peace, Master Elf. I will do what I can to have the King agree to release you. But what name do you go by?'  
  
  
  
The Elf straightened his back importantly, his chin tilted towards the old man, pride lining his features despite being imprisoned.  
  
  
  
'I am Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, Lord of the Green Woods, and the last remaining High Elves of the North. Have your King release me at once for my father's retribution will be swift if you but keep his youngest son here as an unwilling prisoner.'  
  
  
  
Gandalf nodded his head once before getting to his feet.  
  
  
  
'As you wish, my prince,' he murmured, bowing before Legolas. And then he left the room to speak with the King.  
  
  
  
to be continued… 


End file.
